


Destressing 101

by itsyourownpersonaljesus



Category: Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: 19th Century, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Berlin (City), Fluff and Smut, Français | French, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, because I have no self control, bottom britain, but actually, dont @ me, for all u hoes out there, guys uh, i cant believe i have to actually type these, there u go, theres that too, they fuck, theyre switches, this is a smut fic, this takes place post berlin conference, top france, victorian era smut my dudes, you get the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsyourownpersonaljesus/pseuds/itsyourownpersonaljesus
Summary: Two imperialist assholes sleep together after arguing about the best ways to cut up Africa for themselves, that's it, that's the fic.This is also my unofficial sequel to the absolutely incredible Berlin Conference oneshot bySkyStreakerzin chapter 22 of their workCountry Whateversif you haven't heard of it, first of all, what rock have you been living under? Second of all, go read it.
Relationships: France/United Kingdom (Anthropomorphic)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	Destressing 101

**Author's Note:**

> i have sinned

The others were filing out of the room with last lingering expressions ranging from bitter resentment to downright smug, and Britain watched them with his own hardly concealed grin. Belgium passed him on the way out, huffing indignantly and brushing passed him, but Britain paid it little mind, slightly more concerned with watching the way France narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly as he bid a clipped farewell to the Second Reich, who then turned to trace Belgium’s retreat out the door of the meeting hall. France’s fingers drummed on the ornate mahogany table, and he snapped his head over to look at Britain, still sitting rather comfortably in his own chair, crossing one leg over the over as he met France’s irritated stare.

“Well, spit it out Dear, what has you so bent out of shape?” Britain asked, tone saccharine sweet, a smug smile resting easily on his face.

France’s grip tightened on the hilt of the sword at his hip, and his hand stilled against the table, expression narrowing, “ _You_ -” He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and looking up at the painted, gilded ceiling, looking back at Britain after a moment with a dangerous expression, a small twitch to his lips, a sly smirk on his face.

He stepped back from the table, striding confidently to Britain’s chair and leaning over him, placing on a hand on his shoulder. France glanced over the room then, checking for any lingering eyes or ears in the emptied room before he leaned in, whispering into Britain’s ear in that low, smoky tone that so often sent shivers down his spine, as it did even now, “I feel that we should retire together tonight, _mon désir_.”

Britain hummed, grinning even as heat rose to his cheeks, “That’s rather forward of you France, looking to destress are we?”

France nipped at the shell of his ear, “And what if I am?” He whispered, the brush of air making Britain shudder once more.

“Well,” His tone matter of fact, Britain continued, standing up and brushing off France’s hand, drawing himself up to his full height to face the other, watching France do the same, “Shall we get going then? We mustn’t waste too much time.”

France grinned, something predatory and mischievous in his eyes, something undeniably excited, “Let us depart, _Royaume-Uni_.” He spoke to Britain in a quiet undertone, before leading the way out the door, Britain falling in to step behind him.

The journey to the large, opulent Berlin hotel where they were staying passed quickly; they rode separately to avoid suspicions that had no doubt already been cast but were best avoided all the same. Arriving at the hotel, Britain walked in to see France leaning casually against a far wall, waiting for him, waiting to lead Britain to the hotel room they were sort of sharing, but not really, not for anyone’s knowledge but their own. France saw him, and upon meeting his gaze, he turned and walked down the hall, trusting him to follow, and it irritated Britain to no end that he would indeed follow, happily too. He spotted Belgium in the lobby as he made his way to the hall, and the other eyed him with a dubious expression, raising a brow, though Britain did naught but roll his eyes and continue walking. 

He met France a bit farther down the hall, who had just opened the door to his, their, room, stepping inside but holding the door open for Britain, who followed him in, shedding his sword and scabbard, as well as his shoes, as France locked the door behind them before doing the same. Britain looked over to him, opening his mouth to say something, ask him what exactly he had planned, if he had any plans at all, or maybe mention seeing Belgium in the hall, or ask about France’s obvious microaggression toward Second, but he never got the chance. 

As he turned, he was met with France’s lips on his, hands on his shoulders, his arms, his waist, pushing him back and down onto the hotel bed, Britain falling back easily and leaning on his elbows as France crawled over him, kissing him passionately, hurriedly. They broke for air, breathing heavily as France began working at the buttons on Britain’s collar, the coat opening effortlessly under France’s deft hands and, upon exposing the skin of Britain’s neck and collar bone, France began to pepper kisses and nips across it.

Moaning softly under him, Britain snuck his hands between them, beginning his own work on France’s uniform, though his speed could not compare to France’s, whose hands now sat at Britain’s hips, fingers teasing at the waistline of his pants. He leaned forward, sitting up on the bed as he unfastened France’s clothing, licking a stripe up France’s neck and biting at the sensitive skin there, France gasping against him with a small shudder before there was a hand on his chest, pushing him down again.

“Oh là là, that is not the direction we are taking tonight,” France whispered into his ear, shrugging his shoulders out of his uniform, nipping at the shell of Britain’s ear to emphasize his point, “My dearest _Grande Bretagne_.”

Britain sucked in a breath at the shiver down his spine, at the _implication_ , gasping softly as France kissed a line down to the center of his chest, giving the waistband of his trousers a playful tug. He hummed, speaking breathlessly, “Oh you really can’t stand having the rest of us rival you for Africa, can you? Feeling a little out of control are we?” He grinned down at France’s flat expression.

France put a palm between Britain’s legs in response, causing him to gasp again, raising his hips to France’s touch instinctually. France hummed contemplatively, casually rubbing his thumb across Britain through the cloth, “What was that?” France asked sweetly, watching Britain squirm under him with passive observation, “I’m not sure I understand, would you repeat yourself?”

Britain moaned again, taking care to keep it as quiet as a near involuntary response could be, looking back to France, eyes narrowing, “I _said_ -”

There was a finger to his lips, France was _shushing_ him, the bastard, “Do not ruin this for yourself Bretagne, I will not hesitate to leave, and let you take care of _this_ -” He palmed Britain again, much to his body’s delight and his mind’s irritation, “All by yourself. Is that what you want?”

He tried to make his expression seem irritated, even unphased by the threat, but France’s hand was giving him the friction his body weeped for and that made it remarkably hard to put any real heat behind his glare. Nevertheless, he tried, “Oh don’t act like you don’t want this just as much as I do. You may even want it _more_.”

“Ah but you are the one that would truly be amiss without it, I know how to pleasure myself to true satisfaction,” He unfastened the clasps of Britain’s pants, fingers edging just beneath the edge of his waistline, leaning in close to Britain and whispering softly in his ear, “Can you really say the same for yourself?”

He inhaled sharply under France, opening his mouth to respond, but not quite finding the words to defend his position, France was right after all, as much as he hated to admit it. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, he really didn’t want to let it go, he _wanted_ it, and obviously France wanted to hear it, as much as Britain always tried to avoid giving France the satisfaction of anything. He huffed a breath, “Just get on with it then, I’ll try not to bruise your _fragile_ ego too badly.”

France frowned against him, biting down harshly on Britain’s collar bone on his journey down his chest, fingers pushing the unbuttoned coat further away from Britain’s skin, allowing himself more access to the skin of his chest. “It is the tragedy of all tragedies that I ever met you,” He muttered against Britain, “And even more so that I have wholly and entirely fallen for you and your wretched personality.” Sighing, he pulled on the waist of Britain’s pants, tugging them downward, Britain lifting his hips from the bed slightly to assist, leaving himself utterly exposed and at France’s mercy.

There was a part of him that was warmed at France’s words though, as backhanded as they were, but now was not the time for warm words and meaningful sentiments, so he let the feeling pass, not a hard thing to do as France decided to distract him by finally using his mouth for something other than speaking. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, bringing his hand down to lace through France’s hair as the other took him easily, using his tongue in some fantastic ways that had Britain remarkably worried he might finish all too soon. France pulled up before he could hardly think it though, leaving Britain to stare at him in indignant confusion as he stepped to the bag he’d packed for the stay in Berlin, quickly finding what he was looking for, tossing it on to the bed.

Britain leaned over, looking at the small glass jar curiously, taking it in hand and squinting at the label, “Vaseline?” He read aloud, “Isn’t this for burns and skin maladies? Why did you bring this?”

France snatched it out of his hand with a small grin, “You must open your mind to the _possibilities_ my dear. I too once thought it was a simple ointment, before my eyes were opened to it’s _other_ uses.”

Britain looked at him, confused and nonplussed by France’s words, shimmying fully out of his clothing as France dropped his own pants with a flourish very typical of him, returning to his place on the bed between Britain’s legs, vaseline in hand. “I still haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” Britain muttered, increasingly annoyed at all of France’s vague description and dramatic effect.

France made a quiet sound of disapproval, twisting off the small metal lid and picking up a generous amount of the petroleum jelly on the tips of his fingers, sighing softly, “You are so remarkably dense at times, it is unbelievable to me.” Britain bristled at the words but stiffened suddenly as France circled him with a single finger, the penny finally dropped, and France gave him a knowing smirk, one that made his cheeks flush.

A rather urgent thought occurred to him then, “Wait, wait-” France stilled, looking at him in silent question, “Your eyes were opened? How? Is there-”

“Shh, no, don’t even ask that question,” France interrupted him, running a hand over his knee and up his thigh, “There is no one else with which I share these experiences, I haven’t had anyone else in my bed since we started _this_ ,” He made a small, all encompassing gesture with the hand on Britain’s leg, “It was merely a discussion I had with a few friends, I tried it out myself, of course, and found them to be quite correct about its usefulness.”

“Oh, oh right, of course,” Britain looked away, “I apologize for my assumption, I suppose it was rather unwarranted of me.”

France hummed, his fingers drummed once against Britain’s leg, “Yes, a bit,” Britain cringed slightly, though France continued, “But it’s alright, I know why you jumped to that conclusion, I should have chosen more careful words, knowing how easily jealous you are.” He pinched Britain’s inner thigh with a grin, causing him to gasp in response.

“You’re the worst,” He breathed out, “I can’t believe I ever let you seduce me into this arrangement.”

“ _Oh, France I’m so lucky to have you, if not for your experienced and intimate presence in my life, I would still be a distraught, sexually frustrated, passionless Englishman, I am truly indebted to you._ ”

“I do _not_ sound like that!”

France merely hummed in response, raising his eyebrows incredulously, as if he had hard time believing Britain’s words, but instead of furthering the conversation, his attention was drawn to the task at hand. His finger circled Britain again, and that’s the only warning he got before France pushed inside, meeting minimal resistance, even as Britain let out a soft gasp.

France kissed down the inside of his thigh as he continued to work Britain open, adding a second finger and smirking delightedly at the sharp intake of breath from Britain, the shaky exhale he let out. France ran his hand up and down Britain’s thigh, gently massaging the muscle there, a physical reassurance of his presence as Britain focused on taking a few deep breaths against the minor burn of the stretch.

“Relax, mon cher, just breathe.” France pressed a few more soft kisses to his skin, moving in and out of Britain, drawing a quiet whimper from him.

“That’s-” He swallowed, “That’s easy for you to say, given your position in this-” France brushed the one, particularly sensitive point then, and Britain failed to suppress a groan at the sensation, hands grasping at the sheets below him.

“Ah, c’est ça-” France found it again, earning another drawn out moan, leaning into Britain’s ear with a delighted smile, “I will have you completely undone before me. You will know no greater pleasure than what I will give to you.” He whispered.

Britain shuddered against him, gasping for air as France continued to passively torture him, “Those,” France quickened his pace, leaving Britain to squirm under him, continuing breathlessly, “Those are some pretty big words- Are you sure you can meet my-” He gasped suddenly as France began to kiss at the skin of his neck, “My expectations?”

France bit him then, pulling away and licking the skin there, as Britain moved a hand to his back, grasping at him almost desperately. France leaned back, looking over Britain with a serious expression, “I already have.” He looked over Britain’s face, his gaze trailing fire down Britain’s neck and torso before he met his gaze again, his tongue darting out to wet his lip before he leaned down, capturing Britain’s lips with his own.

Britain sighed into the kiss, his hands coming up around France’s back, choosing to selectively ignore his comment. He let France deepen the kiss, tilting his head to meet the new angle, cupping France’s cheek with one hand. He hissed, pulling back when France added a third finger, squeezing his eyes shut against the temporary pain, knowing it would turn to pleasure soon enough.

France pressed soft kisses to his face, leaning into Britain’s touch as he did so, kissing the underside of Britain’s face as he slowed the movement of his hand, letting Britain adjust for a moment. “You act as if we’ve never done this before,” He let his teeth graze over the bone of Britain’s jaw, “Are you sure you’ll be able to take me?” His hand pinched lightly at Britain’s chest, drawing a gasp from him.

He rolled his eyes, even as he grasped at France when another wave of pleasure washed over him, “Don’t-” He breathed, “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that big.” His tone one of exasperated fondness.

France laughed lightly against him, “Bigger than you.” Britain felt France smirk against his skin.

Britain scoffed, swatting him gently, “And yet I’ve had you begging for it on numerous occasions-”

With a twist of his hand, France cut Britain off, grinning as Britain gasped and panted at the sensation, exhaling breaths tinged with desperation, hands digging into the skin of France’s back. But all too suddenly France pulled out of him, leaning away entirely with a smug expression that sent more shivers down his spine and irritated him to no end, especially as he had just been starting to enjoy himself and all. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing France?!” His tone indignant, though his voice came in a hushed manner, like one of a stage whisper, or like one that was aware of the thin walls in this old hotel.

France merely shrugged, though his eyes glinted in the low light as he leaned down to place a kiss to the center of Britain’s chest, his hand stroking Britain once, twice, but pulling away as soon as Britain let out a small whimper in response, causing him to look at France with an expression of blatant irritation, even nearing anger. France looked back at him, crawling over him until their faces were nearly touching and placing a finger under Britain’s chin, tilting his head up and meeting his eyes with an unyielding gaze. After a moment, he spoke, a quiet order that belied no desire to compromise, no room for argument, “Beg.”

Britain’s eyes went wide under France’s hold, his lips slightly parted as he stared up, searching France’s eyes, saying nothing for a moment, a long, long moment. He swallowed, looking away, “Don’t- Don’t be ridiculous France. I don’t need it that badly.” He sounded unsure even to his own ears and he winced slightly in anticipation, knowing France would hear the uncertainty in his voice easily.

France gripped his chin, forcing their eyes to meet once again, “Don’t you?” He whispered, his other hand teasing Britain once again as Britain bit his lip, failing to suppress the small, desperate noise in the back of his throat.

Exhaling shakily, and drawing in another breath, his eyes flicked down to France’s lips then back up to his eyes. There was a long moment in which he said nothing, weighing his need against his philosophy of never giving in to France, coming to an eventual conclusion with another deep breath, “France,” He swallowed, “Please-”

France cut him off suddenly, “ _En français_.”

“You’re joking.” Britain replied flatly, but France’s expression did not change. He stroked Britain again, lightly, only reminding him of how much his body craved the touch, how much he wanted it, how much he _needed_ it. He moaned desperately, digging his fingers in France’s shoulders, closing his eyes, “S’il te plaît, France, j’ai envie de toi.” He whispered, shuddering out a gasp as France touched him again, a slow, teasing pace, humming above him, “J’ai besoin de toi. S’il te plaît.”

Kissing at the skin of Britain’s neck, France hummed again under the words, “Please what?”

He huffed, running his hands down France’s back, “Fais-moi l’amour, you bastard.”

France grinned, “Make love to you?” He raised a brow, “How _romantic_ \- certainly not what I expected to hear.” He kissed Britain’s collar bone.

“Oh, for the love of- Je veux que tu me baises, France!” He kept his exclamation as quiet as he could, but it dripped with exasperation all the same.

“All too happy to oblige, ma moité.” He could hear the smile in France’s voice, even though he couldn’t see his expression from this angle. He gasped quietly as France moved against him, lining himself up and pushing forward slowly as he kissed along Britain’s skin, peppering soft affection over him that was uncharacteristic of the night but appreciated all the same as Britain wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down against him as he adjusted to the feeling.

France groaned softly, leaning into Britain’s embrace, nipping at the skin of his neck and licking over the areas he grazed or bit with his teeth, as Britain grew increasingly thankful that their uniforms had such high collars. He dug his nails into France’s skin as France reached down to stroke him firmly, distracting him from the pain he felt, though it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and it was quickly fading in the wake of the pleasure he felt. He groaned as well, shifting in response to France’s movements, hands trailing down, gripping at France’s sides, his hips, closing his eyes as France kissed the column of his throat. 

Eventually France stilled completely, letting Britain adjust to him, and after a minute, a few deep breaths, Britain nodded for him to continue. He didn’t though, not immediately like Britain expected, and he looked at France in confusion, opening his mouth to question him, but never got the chance before France captured his lips with his own once again, bringing a hand up to Britain’s cheek, cupping his jaw as he angled their faces together. Britain sighed softly into the kiss, and France deepened it, saying something with the action that Britain couldn’t quite decipher in the moment as he began to move, Britain letting out a pitched gasp and a quiet moan in response, holding France against him. 

Britain moaned again as France moved, slowly at first, savoring the moment as he did so, and Britain clawed at him gently, biting his lip to cut off the sound he made, rolling his hips to meet France and hearing another quiet groan from him. France’s hands sat at Britain’s hips and he rested his head in the junction of Britain’s neck and shoulders, humming contentedly as he angled his hips in the just the right way, one that had Britain tightening his hold and struggling to keep quiet, relegating his moans to small whimpers and hums in the back of his throat.

That was until France picked up his pace, and the sound that ripped from Britain’s throat was not, by any stretch of the imagination, _quiet_ , and while France didn’t stop, he did place a sudden hand over Britain’s mouth, pulling up with wide eyes and a small, shocked grin. In fact, France seemed rather delighted to have drawn that sound out of him, his eyes dancing with pride and mischief, as Britain met his gaze with his own irritated stare. France leaned down, slowing to an excruciating pace, “You’re going to get us caught.” He whispered, his grin growing the slighted bit, even as he tried to keep his expression serious, taking his hand off Britain’s mouth and cupping his cheek.

Britain huffed, though his head leaned imperceptibly into France’s touch, “And who’s fault would that be?” He muttered, before gasping again as France moved in just the _right_ way, which France knew of course, judging by his smug expression.

France leaned down, kissing Britain deeply as he sped up again, running his hands over Britain’s thighs, his chest, breaking for air and descending on Britain’s neck and shoulder once more, panting against his skin. Britain grabbed at him, pulling him further down, turning his head to kiss France’s own neck, relishing in the shudder from the other, as he ran his nails down the skin of France’s back, holding him almost desperately as the air was filled by the sound of their heavy breaths, tinged with quiet, muffled groans from either of them, both of them.

Head tilted back, Britain closed his eyes and hooked his legs around France’s waist, drawing him ever, ever closer. He bit his lip, taking one hand away from France, reaching down to touch himself through his desperation, but France caught his wrist before he made it very far, bringing his hand to his face and pressing a kiss to his palm. He met Britain’s eyes with his own fiery gaze, letting the near silence of the space speak in his stead.

Britain rolled his eyes, his hand returning to its place on France’s back, pulling him down again, “France,” He breathed, the air ghosting over his ear, “France, please, _please_.” He moaned softly as France moved to kiss him along the length of his jaw and down his throat.

“I know, I know, me too.” France muttered breathlessly against him, taking Britain in his own hand, much to Britain’s delight, giving him the touch he so desperately craved and needed. France put his forehead on Britain’s shoulder, mumbling quiet, broken phrases against him, mouthing along Britain’s skin.

Britain shuddered, a hardly restrained cry falling from his lips as he felt heat flood his body, the pressure building exponentially before the release, like that of a coiled spring, the sensation flooding him all at once as he threw his head back, closing his eyes in its wake. He wrapped his arms around France anew, holding him, pulling him down so their bodies were flush against each other, rolling his hips as he rode out the high, hearing France make a strangled sound in response.

France was not far behind him, breathing heavily, movements growing uncoordinated and disjointed before he finished with a soft groan, biting down on Britain’s shoulder as he did so, before pulling a hair’s breadth away to kiss the spot tenderly.

A moment of stillness hung between them, France all but collapsing on top of Britain, humming contentedly as he relaxed against him, bringing his hands up to rest at Britain’s sides. 

Britain’s arms relaxed their grip and he ran his hands gently down France’s back, huffing under the weight of France on top of him, but he didn’t make any move to push him off, one of his hands threading through the ends of France’s hair. “Get off me.” He breathed out, though didn’t make any effort to enforce such an order.

France laughed lightly, lifting his head latently to kiss Britain’s cheek, “I don’t want to.” He whispered, grinning tiredly as he nuzzled into Britain’s face.

He let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes with a hum, “You’re going to have to eventually, we’re not going to sleep like this.”

France groaned, rolling off of him with an over dramatic sigh, as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, and Britain scoffed quietly, gently pushing at him with his hands, as France stood from the bed with a groan, stretching his arms above his head as he made his way to the washroom of the hotel suite. Britain watched his retreat only for a few moments, smirking at the sway of his hips before he let his head fall back onto the bed, closing his eyes.

A minute or two passed before France’s return, time enough for Britain to have nearly gone to sleep, but not quite, not entirely, and he cracked an eye open upon hearing France’s footsteps. France came up to him with a small smile, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Britain’s hand in his own, placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles as he wiped them both down with a damp washcloth, leaving again to toss the cloth into the tub of the bathroom. He returned after a brief moment, crawling over the bed and laying against Britain, pulling the comforter over them.

Britain wrapped an arm around France’s shoulders, shimmying under the covers as he did so and kissing France’s temple, France leaning his head on Britain’s shoulder and tracing over Britain’s chest with his fingers. Britain sighed softly, trailing his own hand down France’s side and relaxing into the embrace, content to let the both of them drift off in silence.

France, however, was not so inclined, mumbling quietly against Britain, “Thank you.” The words falling from his lips like some manner of confession.

Britain sighed again, closing his eyes and letting the warm blanket of sleep settle over his bones, rubbing idly over France’s skin, “You’re getting sentimental.” He whispered, the quality of his voice belying his exhaustion.

The movement of France’s fingers stopped, his hand splayed flat on Britain’s chest instead, and for a long time he said nothing, Britain nearly to the point of true, uninterrupted rest before France whispered back to him, in an equally exhausted and quiet tone, “You’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> so uh.... yeah this happened...  
> thanks for reading, i love you all, merci beaucoup, and i am so sorry
> 
> french translations  
> mon desir: my desire  
> royaume uni: united kingdom, but in a sexier french way  
> (grande) bretagne: (great) britain  
> mon cher: my dear  
> c'est ca: that's it  
> en francais: in french  
> s'il te plait: please, but the informal  
> j'ai envie de toi: i want you  
> j'ai besoin de toi: i need you  
> fais-moi l'amour: make love to me  
> je veux que tu me baises: i want you to fuck me  
> ma moite: my other half


End file.
